Smoke and Mirrors
by bruised anatomy
Summary: It was raining when I first met him. The weather was always dreary when he was around. Or maybe that was just him. He was always so melancholy for being so young.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: It was raining when I first met him. The weather was always dreary when he was around. Or maybe that was just him. He was always so melancholy for being so young.

Warning: AU. Language.

_**Smoke and Mirrors I**_

"Come down from there!"

There was no response from the boy standing on the rail of a bridge, no recognition. The rain was coming down too hard. It was almost impossible to see, so how could I expect this boy to even hear me?

"Get down from there," I demanded, grabbing at his arm and waist, yanking him onto more solid ground. "Don't you know that's dangerous?"

The petite boy again did not respond.

"Hey! Kid! Look at me!" I rotated his body so that he was facing me.

A red substance stained the boy's light shirt and khaki cargo shorts. He was pale, and I realized for the first time that he was shivering, trembling. His teeth were chattering, and he had a vice like grip on his arms, strong enough to bruise.

I stared in wonderment at this ill little boy. How long had he been sitting there? Ho-how long had he been bleeding?! Blood ran in rivulets down his legs and in between his toes. He was missing a flip-flop, and the other one was beyond useless anyway.

"C-come on, Kid. Let's get you home, or better yet, to a hospital." I picked up the child and carried him to the nearest hospital.

_**Smoke and Mirrors II**_

Luckily, there was a hospital not far from where I found him.

Ha. Ha.

Please, excuse my laughter. But there is just something about this boy that was so gloomy that you just have to laugh. Otherwise you might find yourself in the position that I'm in right now.

**_Smoke and Mirrors III_**

Damaged, broken people are frightening things. I looked at the boy before me. Foolish boy, recklessly risking his life.

"Thing is," a pause, "this isn't the first time he's tried something like this."

I stared at the blond boy in the bed. His torso was wrapped up, and he would occasionally take deep breaths and arch his back, stretching his injuries. I nearly flinched every time, and I glared at him for the action. "Tried what?"

"Uh. To kill himself, sir."

I had to raise an eyebrow at that. "How old is he? Nine? He's too young to think like that." I was in denial.

"Uh. He's thirteen and suffering from clinical depression."

I gave him a derisive snort. _What a quack_. "Depression is like ADD. Ridiculous and overrated."

The orderly glared at me for the thoughtless comment.

A brunette walked into the room with heavy steps. "What happened?"

"He tried to kill himself again," the orderly or _Myde_ as his name tag read answered casually as if he knew the man.

"Mn." He walked over to the blond's side. "Cloud won't be happy to hear about this." He had a light smile on his face as he rubbed the blond hair.**_  
_**

**_Smoke and Mirrors IV_**

He was standing at the bridge. A cigarette hung from his lips.

"Don't you think you're a bit _young_ to smoke?" I asked him, tugging the butt out of the blond's mouth when he turned to me. I put the burning thing against my own lips, exhaling a stream of smoke.

"Don't preach to me, Hypocrite," was the blond's hateful response, reaching into his back pocket for another one.

He resumed his previous position, and I tried not to let that small bit of surprise to show on my face.

The blond boy heaved a heavy sigh. "And while we're having this little chat," cigarette to lips, inhale, deepen glare, exhale, "try not to intrude on private affairs. It's rather rude."

"Says the boy contemplating suicide on a fucking bridge of all things."

He pursed his lips to the left side for a brief moment before once again cigarette to lips, inhale, deepen glare, exhale. "Again: try not to intrude on private affairs." He glided past me before tossing his skateboard to the ground and skating off. Cigarette to lips, inhale, foot to ground, exhale.

**_Smoke and Mirrors V_**

That wasn't going to be the last time we ran into each other on this bridge. Sometimes, I would swear that he was waiting for me.

At some point, he felt it beneficial to mention that his older brother and sole provider was paralyzed from the waist down due to some traumatic and horrible car crash, the very same crash that took his father, mother, and twin brother. Little Roxas was completely unharmed. I realized why he was so depressed.

I had become the shrink he desperately needed, and he started following me home. Then he started spending the night, and I let him. As long as it was okay with his brother, I let him.

Roxas would call and say that he was staying with a friend. I suppose that Cloud was just so happy to hear that Roxas actually had a social life to be concerned and ask questions, despite how misguided both young man and child were. The kid was sleeping in a twenty year old bachelor's living room for Pete's sake! It's just a good thing that the kid had taken a shining to me as opposed to some other young adult.

**_Smoke and Mirrors VI_**

Time passed; after six months, Roxas practically lived at my house. Another six months, and he had moved in. Somehow a year and a half went by. The kid was fifteen; and his only living relative, aside from some crazy aunt in the loony bin, died.

He refused to speak or eat for a week.

**_Smoke and Mirrors VII_**

The funeral was small. We couldn't afford anything bigger. Not many people attended. The Strife family wasn't known for being particularly social, those who were already dead from the wreck. It was small, but it was beautiful, and those who had anything to say spoke encouraging and heartfelt words.

_**Smoke and Mirrors VIII**_

Roxas still didn't eat for another two days, and I wondered if it was my fault. Cloud had changed his will since Roxas became attached to me, and the onetime neighbors and close friends of the dearly departed Mr. and Mrs. Strife were no longer Roxas' God-Parents. I was.

**_Smoke and Mirrors IX_**

"Axel," he whispered my name all quiet and somber.

I made a noise that said that I was paying attention.

"I don't want to be here anymore."

I didn't understand what he was talking about. I turned to look at him, but he'd already retreated from the kitchen, so I heaved a sigh and continued to cook a half decent meal from scratch for dinner.

**_Smoke and Mirrors X_**

Squall Leonhart, the man who had shown such love toward Roxas in that hospital room so long ago, was abusive. He had always been a bit verbally abusive toward Cloud; but after the wreck, it grew worse; and he had physically beaten Roxas more than a few times, times that Cloud knew nothing about.

Roxas tried to get Cloud to leave, but who else would love a paraplegic? And so Cloud refused to listen, and Roxas refused to stay.

He felt responsible despite his constant effort. Even after he left, the kid would make my phone bill go through the roof with all of the calls to his brother.

Roxas started crying when he told me, while I was playing shrink again. It was the first and only time that I had ever seen him cry. It was heart breaking.

**_Smoke and Mirrors XI_**

_Dear Axel,_

_ Please, don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. It was no one's fault but my own. Thank you for making my last days the best ones of my life. You don't know how much it meant to me. You took good care of me, so you couldn't have known that I've been hoarding my pills. I took nearly three years worth of medication. No one knew._

_ Please, don't give me a funeral. I don't want one. I don't want to be buried. I'd much rather be cremated, but don't hold on to the ashes._

_ I'm sorry that I've been a burden. It was never my intention._

_ Sincerely,_

_ The boy contemplating suicide on a fucking bridge of all things,_

_ Roxas_

**_Smoke and Mirrors XII_**

Bile rose up in my throat; and I reached for the nearest waste bin, clutching my hair and the note in one hand and the small trash can with the other.

_This isn't happening. It's not real._

"It's not fucking** real**!!"

My head spun, and dots flickered in my eyes.

**_Smoke and Mirrors XIII_**

When I regained consciousness, I couldn't quite recall what happened, or I was denying it so deeply I wouldn't let myself remember. But the acidic taste in my mouth and the note crumpled in my hand reminded me.

Roxas wasn't there. He wasn't in the room. There was a chance that he chickened out or that he was playing a cruel trick.

Things like this didn't happen. They didn't even happen in fucking movies! So there was no way this was real.

I suddenly wished that I had asthma as a child, so I could use an inhaler to steady my breathing.

I reached into my pocket for my cell phone and called the police. If he was dead or just missing, I _had_ to know. The question hanging in the air would kill me.

**_Smoke and Mirrors XIV_**

Weeks passed, and I still had no news on my suicidal, potentially dead, ward.

**_Smoke and Mirrors XV_**

Years went by, and I never got my answer.

**_Smoke and Mirrors XVI_**

It was February 14, Valentine's Day, and my birthday. I was twenty seven, three years away from thirty.

I came home practically wasted and with some guy as tall though a bit broader than me when I noticed a postcard in the mail that I had yet to sift through.

He was taking a piss, and I picked it up. The picture was something from India, a blue man with half a dozen arms. I flipped it over, and the words swirled for a moment, but I recognized the hand writing immediately, and I stared.

When the man, whose name I never bothered to learn, came back, kissing my neck and groping my thighs, I sent him away with harsh words. And he left but not without slamming the door so hard a picture fell.

_Hey Axel,_

_ It's been a while. Happy Birthday. Hope you're still breathing._

_ Sincerely,_

_ The boy contemplating suicide on a fucking bridge of all things_

I hadn't thrown away his note. I hadn't thrown away his things. In fact, I recreated his room every single time I had moved in the last five years.

Oh, god. He would be twenty now. All grown up and still angry and cynical as ever.

And I had missed it. I blinked, and he was gone. One year, a funeral, and four more years later, he was alive. He was acknowledging me. He sent me a fucking postcard. Bastard.

I felt my eyes swell with tears; and to this day, I can't decide whether it's due to anger or joy.


End file.
